


Taking

by wreathed



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, First Time, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Steve, the night before Steve leaves to take down Hydra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking

Peggy had asked Steve to expand further on their conversation in the car in Brooklyn, before the serum, and no, truly, he had never _danced_ – sly circumlocution, but it got their exchange to where Peggy wanted it to be. She had thought even then that he could have got somewhere if he hadn’t treated women like unknowable creatures. And then she had thought about what he had missed out on.

He had stuttered over her beauty in a way that made it clear he wished she was his.

Peggy hasn’t always been sensible. Precautionary, always, but not always sensible. Men aren’t too keen to dance all night with a woman who might step on their toes, but they’ll note her prettiness, her novelty, her proximity, and stay with her for a song.

She does not need to tangle herself up in love, unrequited or otherwise. Not when there’s a war on.

In Brooklyn, Peggy had been worried; the pod that was like a strange metal coffin with a window through which to view the face of the cadaver, the sounds of pain ratcheted up with every turn of the wheel of Stark’s machine. Then Captain America had appeared, more attractive than any body she had ever danced with (kissed or screwed or actually danced with; any version of the metaphor), yet he was someone who still stared at her as if she was a film star made for the scene she was in and he – physically exceptional, morally beautiful – was nothing special.

It’s an advantage that would be terrible to waste.

She had considered Sergeant Barnes in that brief moment in the music hall, the piano playing behind them and her red dress making her feel almost as invincible as when she wore her uniform, but then Barnes had not understood why Peggy might not want him.

And she hadn’t wanted to hurt Steve.

And that was the real problem.

Then she catches Steve kissing someone else. She’s not wearing her red dress, but she’s not wearing her full uniform either, and she feels like a prize idiot for her abstinence.

“I didn’t think anything, Captain; not one thing,” had been a transparent lie – she had thought of him time and time again with a frequency men did not think women thought of men. Steve had looked mortified that she could no longer take from him all his firsts. He had forgotten how others saw him now, and she had forgotten that she wasn’t the only one who would want him anymore.

Then when the film reel had shown her picture in his compass, equivalent of a portrait in a lady’s locket for someone so determined to find the right way, Peggy had never felt more delighted. Not every man was worth waiting on – either it was not even worth entertaining the idea, or she got what she wanted and moved on – but Steve was, she decides. She knows.

She misses intimacy with other people’s bodies. But she had not, could not, fraternise. None of the men could keep a secret, and they would feign nonchalance if she had accepted any of their advances, as if they had a right to her. But Steve, Steve she could surprise into silence. He would never tell a soul.

And he would care so much.

If she had a necklace handy instead of a necktie, she would have worn it. If she owned a tighter girdle made with rationed rubber she would have given herself a better figure. But the rules are different now. She has herself and her lipstick.

She had wanted to wait, she really had, knows that’s where the satisfaction is when you want something this much. But when Steve tells her he’s going after Schmidt in the wreckage of their music hall, she spurs herself on with the thought that he might not come back, super-soldier or no. And haven’t they waited long enough?

People do say, after all, that it’s better to have loved and lost…

She tells him she knows a place they can go. Steve stumbles over his words, and breathes out fast. It’s a shame he can’t get drunk, could calm his nerves.

(The humming, anticipatory heat between her thighs grows. His lack of knowledge, his ignoble lust, the way his eyes might fall closed when they join together for the first time.)

She brings him to the room where the laundry is done for the soldiers, drops her handbag on the floor and locks the door. It is stiflingly warm. There are machines, silent at this hour, there is a low, large table in the centre of the room, there is an empty drying rack hanging from the ceiling above it. _Click clack_ go her shoes on the hard floor. There is the prevalent smell of starch.

There is Steve. Steve’s lips are a deep, catch-your-eye pink. Steve doesn’t know where to put his hands. She settles them on her waist and he blinks at her once, twice. She backs him up against the table.

“Kiss me,” she says.

Steve swallows.

“Only I can’t reach up to you anymore. Now you’re so tall. You’ll have to come down to me.”

It’s half the fun, doing the legwork; to take, not to be taken. But Peggy wants to know he can do this. She will not willingly invite any comparison with Private Lorraine.

Steve dips his head, looks at the ground. His eyelashes are dark against his skin.

“You’re very beautiful, Peggy,” he says quietly, and brings his lips to hers.

He does not move things along. He just carries on kissing her – at first as still as on-screen couples at the end of their pictures because that’s how he’s seen it, but then he begins to move – and waits for her to lead. Not like other men, she dares to hope again, despite previous altercations. Remnants of her lipstick darken the colour of his mouth.

She shifts just a little tighter against him when she just can’t wait any longer, and his groan is long and low. He begins at last to rub himself against her thigh as they kiss, firm under his trousers, looking devoted to her and deeply in love with being so.

She is the one to push him back onto the table so that he is sitting, so that she is standing in front of him, skirt pushed a little way up her thighs.

And yes, he looks _good_ sitting between her legs, long legs and small waist enclosed in khaki trousers and jacket, neck strangled by an ochre tie, shoulders adorned with shining pins. Many suit their service uniform (though none as well as Steve): young men, dressed as smartly as they ever have been, buttoned up and fighting fit. Associations creep in around the edge of her desire. The knowledge that Steve will leave tomorrow. That this uniform is what all those young men are wearing when they die.

She’ll prefer him out of it, Peggy decides briskly. She’s seen him in his uniform before.

Peggy kneels and unfastens Steve out of his shoes and socks, trousers with complicated buttons (deftly working around his heated erection), letting them fall to the floor. More carefully, she lies his jacket on the top of a washing machine. She loosens the knot of his tie and pulls it over his head, heart beating in her chest, and then unbuttons his shirt as well. In just a white undershirt and button-fastened boxer shorts, Steve breathes hard, shoulders heaving, and puts one hand on the back of Peggy’s knee. “All in good time,” she hears herself say, and pulls off his undershirt. “Lift your hips,” she tells him, and Steve gives out a tiny groan. She pulls down his underwear with two eager hands. She should linger, but she’s so eager to see him even more naked than the indecent amount of flesh she saw just after his transformation. He really is _perfect_ , she thinks as he look up at her – long legs and powerful thighs, small waist fanning out to wide shoulders. A flush across his neck, his enormous biceps and forearms straining as he grips the edges of the table with his hands. His cock stands proudly, darker than the rest of his skin and beginning to leak against his stomach. She’s glad he hadn’t been wearing his Captain America uniform. It is not all who he is.

She is still wearing everything, even her coat fastened up to her collar.

Steve looks so damn _grateful_. And it’s not uncommon, such young men brought to war – and Steve’s gone through more sudden changes than most – to relinquish all command for a change, to let someone tell them to…

“Has Sargent Barnes ever told you about how there are other ways besides this–” she says, free hand on her hip, giving Steve’s cock one firm but lazy pull, and Steve _moans_ , low and taut – “to please a woman?” 

“I _know_ I’m – I’m not some clueless hick,” Steve manages to say, pinpricks of sweat across his brow. “Bucky always said he leaves ‘em happy before he goes in for it, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I just about catch your drift,” Peggy manages, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “He’s probably lying,” she continues. “Or else he doesn’t know any better. Every woman is different, and it takes time–”

“Then show me how to do it right,” says Steve. So determined to find the right way. “For _you_ , just you.”

She almost laughs again, at his earnestness, but it would be a laugh of elation and excitement, not of condescension.

“Undress me,” she says instead. “Slowly.”

His large hands – surprisingly soft fingers – rest briefly on her jaw before he unfastens her trench. He moves to drape it next to his jacket, but she keeps him in his place by squeezing her legs together. Her breath is coming shallower at the mere idea that this strong, earnest man will soon be hers, and she is quite aware that she’s getting aroused enough to half-ruin her underwear. “Don’t worry about the coat; just let it drop. Stay exactly where you are.”

“Peggy,” Steve breathes, running his teeth over his lower lip.

He lets the trench drop to the floor.

He takes her jacket off quickly, but she lets that lie; it is hot in the small room. He unravels her tie properly, then unfastens her blouse, bottom to top, initially fumbling over the buttons being on the left hand side. The garment falls from her arms. Steve kisses her again.

“Well now you’ll have to turn around,” he murmurs close in her ear, fingers softly running through her hair and on the back of her neck.

She does so, a low thrum of desire going through her when his touch skates over her clothed thighs. He undoes the fastening at the back of her skirt and pulls it down over her hips. He _grabs_ her backside with both hands on rare impulse, an _oh God_ rushing from his lips. She pushes back into his hands for a moment, gasping.

She turns back around to face him, now just in her girdle, undergarments, brassiere and bare legs with the seams drawn on, the arch of her foot held high by the heels, and all of a sudden she feels a simultaneous rush of vulnerability and power.

“Oh my God, Peggy. You look like… the best pin-up girl there’s ever been. Are you sure you want this?”

“Absolutely sure. Naughty of you, Steve. Have you been looking at pictures of women?”

“Naw,” he replies; seemingly only at that very moment suddenly aware he is completely naked, he covers his cock with one of his hands. “I… some of the other men have… I did used to draw them, sometimes,” he mumbles. “For Bucky. But you’re better than anything I could even think up to draw.”

“You’ve been waiting an awfully long time for this,” she says.

“If you leave me here right now,” he says, “stark naked and desperate to… finish myself, that’s already more than I deserve.”

Oh god, must he be so–

“This is what you do to me,” Peggy says, and reaches for Steve’s large strong hand with her smaller strong one. She guides him to her underwear, then lifts the material so that Steve’s broad index finger curls into her.

Steve _whines_. It’s incredibly gratifying. Peggy grins. She pushes his hand away.

“Suck it clean,” she whispers, and Steve, skin golden in the low light of the room, brings his finger to his kiss-swollen lips. His cock jerks, untouched.

“It’s actually... you taste real good,” he says, throat sounding dry, blushing.

She steps back for a moment and takes off her own brasserie and girdle (teaching Steve about removing those will have to be a lesson for another day). Steve’s eyes follow where she tosses her underwear across the room, as if he wants to inhale the scent of them. Click clack go her shoes on the hard floor.

Steve stands up then, holding her close against his body. Cupping her breasts, thumbs over her nipples, he gives her a deep kiss. He runs his hands over her waist, then grabs her behind again. “Sorry, I couldn’t just look, I had to, I had to– you’re so gorgeous, you’re so gorgeous.” With one of his legs now between hers, she rubs against him and leaves a shiny trail of arousal on his thigh. His long-neglected cock slides against her belly.

A thought kicks into her with all the force of a rifle recoil. “You said you wanted to know how to do this?” she says after they have broken apart from another kiss, and he nods in an endearingly serious manner. “Lie down on the table.”

She walks behind him so that she is just behind his head. Once Steve’s in position, she sits with her feet on the floor either side of Steve and her cunt on his face. He grabs up to her waist in surprise, then kisses her down there in a manner that is oddly sweet. For further leverage, Peggy raises her arms to grab the drying rack hanging high above the table from the ceiling. It rattles. They both freeze for a terrified moment, but nobody can be heart stirring.

Sandwiched between her thighs, Steve makes a quick learner. “Circles,” she says quietly, suddenly slightly abashed about giving instructions that weren’t too clinical. “Slowly first of all.”

He is content and dexterous enough to take the time she needs, his hands wrapped around her thighs. Every time Steve does something especially good, she reaches forward and tugs on his cock once or twice, which makes him moan, in turn sending vibrations through her.

Steve rolls his hips, tongue deep inside her, then rubs his lips and tongue against her until pleasure ricochets, tightens and then releases within her, sending her legs shaking (another rattle of the drying rack) and her heart hammering. She stands up and steps back when she is able to let Steve catch his breath. His neatly-parted hair is sticking up in a wild number of directions. His lips are covered in her slickness and faint traces of smeared lipstick. Behind the exquisite mess, Steve looks a little overwhelmed. Peggy makes a note in the back of her mind to make sure both their faces are clean before they leave this room.

Steve makes a fist around his cock and pulls himself off around the head, groaning when she gently knocks his hand away. “Sorry, Peggy. It’s alright if that’s all you want to happen, really it is. I just–”

“I’ve got a rubber,” Peggy said matter-of-factly, walking over to her handbag and rummaging for the tin.

“You really want this?” Steve says. “I’m still just the little guy, really. On the inside.”

“I think you’ve forgotten,” she says, going back over to him. “Just how much I’ve still got left to lose.” Steve, in fact, is risking very little by being in this room. Everyone thinks she’s got loose morals anyway just by working here, and they’re not going eject their genetically ideal fighter. She is risking everything. She could get sent back home and go back to being just a girl.

Just a girl here, in one sense, Steve looking up at her as if she is holy.

“Steve,” she says softly, poised just above his cock, watching the way his arms are pinned against his sides to stop himself thrusting up into her. She almost laughs again. “I’m going to get the rubber on you now.”

His cock is shiny and firm against his taut stomach, his balls tight up against him. Makes it easier to put it on, so she does it: her red lips part, and she sucks on as much of Steve’s length as she can. Steve bucks his hips, palms now flat and spread out against the table, mouth parted as he gives out a series of short moans. Peggy pulls her mouth off quickly and puts the rubber on his cock. She feels a gentle thrum run through her in anticipation.

She then waits patiently once more at the tip of his cock, ready to slide down. Steve still doesn’t move; she’s impressed by his self-control.

“You’re so attractive when you actually do what you’re told, I’ve no idea why–”

And then he grins, honest-to-god _grins_ right at her, and so Peggy says _good_ and she does laugh then, doesn’t try and stop herself, and then she slides all the way down to the base of Steve’s cock, revelling in the stretch, the fullness, the heat.

“Jesus,” says Steve. “Oh my God, can I move Peggy, please Peggy.”

“No,” she says, but only so she can move instead – hands either side of him so that she can support herself and so her breasts cantilever forward; her feet are planted on the ground either side of him. She rises, falls, enjoying the feeling of it, enjoys how that, for Steve, it’s both too much and not enough. He’s panting, mouth open, the front section of his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Steve,” she manages to say, sinking right down to the base of him and then sliding up. He feels so good inside her. This was definitely the right thing to do.

“Yeah?” he replies, scrunching his eyes tight shut for a moment before opening them again, one hand clenched in a first, the other resting gently on her arse.

“Don’t finish until I say, yes?”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve says, cheeks flushed redder than ever. From anyone else the form of address would be a cheap trick, but one look into his eyes and Peggy knows Steve’s too far gone to perform any sort of contrivance. He is under her, following her. _Hers_ , in this moment.

There is a delicious I-know-best meanness to making the inexperienced – already after they have delayed for the right or willing person – wait and wait and wait. Not letting them fuck, _telling_ them exactly what she likes. There’s more sweat on Steve’s body than she’s ever seen on him during training or combat and it’s incredibly attractive to watch him shake and whimper, to become exalted in being reduced to something she is fucking.

Her body flutters around him in another release of tension; she rides him through it.

“Come,” she then says, making her voice sharp and commanding, and soldierly Steve’s hips jerk upwards as he groans for an age. His head tips back, showing her the long line of his sweaty, tanned neck, and she can feel his cock pulsing as he comes.

She gets up and carefully removes the rubber from him. Steve’s eyes are shut and he looks utterly blissful. Peggy feels a powerful and urgent rush of affection for him.

She wonders for a moment whether to maintain her slightly icy persona, just get up and leave, leave Steve finished and with the image of her with painted red lips quirked, power, him inside her, she naked but the heels and the opposite of vulnerable. But, damn it, this is meant to be about what she wants, and she wants – no shame in it, and no-one will ever know – to lie beside him for a moment, to wrap one arm around his waist and exhale against his neck in pleasure and relief.

“My best girl,” Steve murmurs, eyes still shut, and Peggy says “yes” and holds Steve a little tighter and thinks about tomorrow.


End file.
